


We All Fall

by todisturbtheuniverse



Series: A Ribbon at a Time [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Insecurity, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adaar loathes that red uniform. Josephine, of course, notices. Post-romance initiation, but pre-Val Royeaux duel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We All Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hinn_Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/gifts).



> Giveaway fic for secretlystephaniebrown on Tumblr; the requested prompt was "F!Adaar/Josephine at the winter palace."

First of all, the stupid uniform _itched_.

"It's a fine material," Josephine remarked, when Adaar first hinted that she'd rather go to Orlais in full armor than let this maid from Val Royeaux complete her transformation from Inquisitor to pincushion. "When it fits properly, and you've worn it a few minutes, it won't itch."

And she smiled, her eyes warming, over the papers and behind the desk that Adaar found so intolerable. For that smile, though, she would tolerate many things. Too much. When Adaar was still a child, her father would sometimes look out the window of their little house at her mother; under his breath, his weathered features softening, he would murmur, "Itwasaam."

Adaar had fallen plenty in her life—on purpose, most of the time—but never before like this.

Second, Josephine's very pretty smiles aside, the uniform was _bright red_. Not exactly the best color for attempting to blend in, she'd pointed out.

"No, but it will hide all the blood," Leliana said. She sipped from her cup of tea like it would sufficiently hide the mirth in her face.

"There will be no _blood_ at the Winter Palace, Leliana," Josephine told her, very sternly, like a mother whose child would not stop getting into the blackberry patch.

Leliana only met Adaar's dark eyes with her own, blue as water but never as transparent, and gave a tiny shrug.

Adaar may have been as unconvinced as Leliana that there would be no blood at this party, but she was not about to tell that to Josephine. Her mouth pinched unpleasantly every time she heard the scouts tell another tale of a skirmish, a battle, the all-out war raging across the continent. Privately, though, Adaar vowed that she would make sure to get into her armor before she got into any physical altercations. The material of the uniform was not sufficient protection for her soft bits.

Finally, and least importantly—but also most depressingly, somehow—the uniform was astonishingly ugly. Even Cullen complained about it, and of them all, he arguably looked least ridiculous in it. Fereldans were always marching about with bright patterns painted all over themselves and their hounds, after all.

"We aren't there as ornaments," Josephine rebuked him one late night over the war table, when Adaar feared that her next yawn would crack her jaw right in two. "We are the Inquisition. We are there with purpose."

"Must it be _bright red_?" he muttered.

"Think of all the attention you'll attract, Commander," Leliana said, her voice curling the way it always did when she teased, and Cullen grumbled and moved his papers around the way he always did.

At least Adaar's armor made her feel powerful, purposeful. She wouldn't ever call it pretty, but it was well-worn, perfectly fit to her body; she felt nearly invincible within it. In the uniform, though, she felt big, and awkward, and like…like…like an _oxman_. Of all the times that she had felt the outsider in her life, this was her least favorite.

"We have more to worry about than the blighted uniforms," she said, sharper than she usually would, and when Josephine tried to catch her eye, she deliberately looked away.

* * *

 

In the end, Adaar might as well have worn her armor; she ended up in it anyway, the way she always did, and passed a nearly comical night frantically changing between the hideous uniform she loathed and the familiar armor that had somehow become a cage, too.

All that, and she didn't even get to dance with Josephine. It wouldn't have been proper, of course, to do so in front of the entirety of Orlais. Rumors might have snuck out of Skyhold, but there was no official word on Ambassador Montilyet's involvement with the Inquisitor—the Herald—the Vashoth. The _Qunari_ , the rest of the world would call her, because they did not know the difference.

That was what _truly_ bothered her, standing on that balcony with Josephine's hand reaching up to rest on her shoulder. Not the long night, not the ridiculous plot, not the tentative peace she'd brokered, which would surely fly to pieces as soon as the empress became too fearful again, but this: the surety that Josephine would suffer if their relationship ever came to light, that they could never be a part of one another's futures.

This moment of peace was nice, though, the dark night a balm against her aching head and sullen heart. And Josephine's weight, slight though it was against her arm, was lovely, her warmth easing through the fabric between them. Ugly uniform or no, she looked just as magnificent as she always did, with her shining dark hair perfectly made up, the moonlight gilding the proud arch of her nose. Months and months ago, Adaar's heart had stuttered at the first sight of her, at every sight of her; this had not changed. She sometimes worried about the effect on her cardiovascular health, but ultimately, if she died early of loving Josephine, it was a better end than she'd ever thought to have before.

"I should return to the ballroom," Josephine said. "Duke Germain has been trying to regale me all night, and I should try not to offend him."

Bitter jealousy rose up like a wave within Adaar, the burn of its salt nearly intolerable, but she schooled her face to impassiveness. "Of course."

"You'll be alright?"

"I should return soon, too."

Josephine's face softened, as if it heard the reluctance hiding in her voice. "You are their heroine now. They will want you to spin them a story, boast of your accomplishments."

Adaar turned her face away. "A few hours ago, I was an oxman." She said it without heat, without inflection, just an uninteresting fact. "I know what a lie looks like, even if it is a very pretty one."

Josephine touched her hand, pressed a kiss to her aching palm. Despite her irritation, her directionless anger, her stomach squirmed at the gesture.

Half-smiling, Josephine said, "The joke is on them, then, for being unable to tell what is true and what is false."

Before Adaar could reply, Josephine left, taking her warmth with her, and in the dark cold that followed, all of Adaar's fears came crowding back in, begging for validation.

She couldn't stand to walk through that ballroom again, no matter what Josephine said. Curious, she tilted her pounding head back. She could climb the trellis to the roof, find a way in on the other side, and seek out a dark, quiet room to stew in for the rest of the night with no one the wiser. Incredibly, for such a large woman, she could occasionally pass for invisible.

Up on the roof, the wind harshened, picking at her uniform, at the long braid flung over her shoulder. Only the idea of Josephine's disapproval prevented her from tearing off her sash and letting it fly away on that breeze.

Quick as she could while still keeping quiet, she climbed down a trellis into the corner of the guest garden. Keeping to the shadows, she snuck back into the guest wing. There was a room around here that the Inquisition had been given use of; there were likely still agents left inside, but they, at least, would leave her alone.

"No, no, no," a voice said, just as her hand grasped the doorknob and she was only centimeters—no, _millimeters_ —from peace. "You can't skulk off now."

Adaar rested her forehead on the door and shut her eyes, anyway. "You can't stop me, Leliana. I am weary to the bone, and I am much bigger than you."

Behind her, Leliana chuckled. She reached out with an ungloved hand to rest it on Adaar's arm. "Hear me out. I have something for your head, and a…surprise."

"I do not know if I can bear any more surprises," Adaar muttered.

"Go inside," Leliana said, entirely too coy for the night they'd had.

Adaar turned the doorknob. Quite against expectations, the large room was entirely empty; perhaps all the agents that had come along had joined the party in the ballroom.

"Hurry," Leliana said, darting to the dresser and back to press a vial into Adaar's hand. She uncorked it and swallowed; the pressure eased behind her eyes.

"What's the rush? I'm not going back out there."

"I never realized how little you complain before, but I'd thank you to return to that state immediately."

Leliana pulled a long, shimmering gown off one of the many racks in the room. It was a lovely, deep blue; gold embroidery winked throughout, delicate flowers blooming on the fabric. Silk, maybe, thin and smooth and fragile. Almost defensively, Adaar tucked her ragged fingers against her palms.

"What is _that_?" she asked, though the fear—and the hope, too—in her chest told her she knew.

"A dress, of course." Leliana shook the garment out and held it up; she had to stretch her arms quite high to prevent the hem trailing on the floor. There was no doubt that it could fit no one but Adaar.

"For me," Adaar said, very slowly.

"You can't expect to wear that ghastly uniform the rest of the night," Leliana said, and shuddered. "And nor will I. The others have already completed their transformations into Orlesian butterflies." Gently, she laid the dress on the bed. "First—uniform off, and there's a water basin over here for a quick wash."

Adaar didn't move. "No one said anything about this to me."

Leliana threw her a look of such frustrated impatience that Adaar nearly followed orders and retracted her complaint, but in the end, she stood firm.

"I anticipated your reticence," Leliana said. "I wanted to tell you earlier—have time to convince you—but Josephine wanted it to be a surprise."

"Josephine," Adaar repeated.

"Yes. Did you think she didn't notice how you felt about the uniform? She agonized over it, the way she does everything."

"I never said—"

"You didn't have to," Leliana said, and for once, her face softened. "Will you give her the credit she is due? She knows you better than you think."

Unsettled—for she had never meant to imply that Josephine was anything but completely observant—Adaar changed the topic. "I've been forced to endure these tiresome people for the entire night. I can't do it for another moment. I won't. Not even in that dress. The threat is dealt with, and my purpose here has expired."

Leliana scowled outright, which was much more expression than Adaar felt comfortable seeing on her face. "Do you think she would expect you to do more than the bare minimum to keep up appearances, after the very long night we've all had? The dress is not for Orlais, it is for _you_. All you have to manage is walking through the ballroom to meet her on the western balcony. Or are you truly too churlish to take advantage of this?"

Adaar crossed her arms over her chest. "Someone will see us. Someone will…say something. Maybe I saved all their necks, maybe I'm the Inquisitor, but I still know my place."

"No," Leliana said, shaking her head, "I don't think you do, or you would already be in this dress and gone from this room."

She wanted to. She wanted nothing more. With the headache easing, and that flowing, beautiful length of fabric right in front of her, she could just imagine gliding past everyone in that ballroom, untouchable, to the only person whose opinion mattered.

Why couldn't she? What was the worst that people would say? Surely Josephine had anticipated all of it and decided it was worth the risk.

Perhaps Leliana had seen the change of heart in her face, because she nodded briskly and pointed again to the water basin. This time, Adaar went. She stripped down to her smallclothes and washed her face, her shoulders, and her arms free of dust; Leliana helped her into the gown. It seemed much more fluid than the dresses the other ladies were wearing.

"Different material, and no corset," Leliana said while Adaar re-braided her hair to neaten it. "If you're lucky, you may even start a new trend. Those are for you, as well," she added, pointing to a few gold trinkets strewn across the top of the dresser. Adaar fastened the clasps of the necklace and bracelets, feeling—as she had for months and months now—that she was having a very surreal dream.

"Why are you helping me?" she finally asked, when Leliana produced the shoes she was to wear: lavish golden slippers that seemed wasted, as no one would notice them under the hem of the dress. "I was honestly under the impression that you didn't exactly approve of me pursuing Josephine."

"That was months ago."

"What changed, then?"

Leliana's lips pursed. "Josie will always be a sister to me. She has a good heart. I only wanted to see it looked after properly." She looked Adaar over with a critical eye, tucking a last stray hair in place. "She has been happier these last few months than I've ever known her, even with the world falling down around us. You'll do."

Adaar's mouth quivered; she barely held a smile in check. "Thank you, I guess."

Leliana gave her a hard, unforgiving sort of look. "Just remember what I said."

"I have nightmares about it sometimes," Adaar pointed out. "I don't think I'm in danger of forgetting."

Astonishingly, Leliana laughed. Adaar found it somewhat more unnerving than her usual expressions. "Well, yes, remember that, but—I meant about you, knowing your place. You and I are very different, but I know something about feeling unworthy. The world is cruel enough; do not do yourself the injustice of amplifying it. Now, shoo," she added, and flapped her hands toward the door.

Bemused, Adaar went. The guards standing outside the entrance to the ballroom were masked, but she could read the way their heads twitched on their necks clear enough; she did her best to nod graciously to them as she passed.

For a moment, just inside the ballroom, she stood paralyzed. Far across the room, however, she saw the empress, and remembering protocol, she curtsied very carefully in Celene's direction. She didn't think she'd ever had the occasion to curtsy before. She hadn't even learned how until Josephine, two weeks prior, had taught her.

"But I'll be wearing that uniform," Adaar had said, doing her best to keep the revulsion out of her voice. "A bow makes more sense, doesn't it?"

"Still," Josephine said, a smile always on her face, "a woman ought to know how to curtsy. Just in case."

Emboldened, Adaar skirted the edge of the ballroom. Not a soul tried to hail her, but a few voices followed in her wake.

"What a stunning dress!"

"Do you recognize the seamstress? I'd think it's—"

"I do love that pendant, we must ask Ambassador Montilyet the jeweler's name—"

She went along uninterrupted, and no one questioned her decision to step quietly out into the cool evening, to the balcony that Leliana had indicated. Perhaps they all only exclaimed over her because she had saved their empress, perhaps they all still held their silent opinions about her height, her horns, but she found she cared a little less, hurt a little less.

Perhaps it was the sight of Josephine, leaning against the railing with a drink in hand, her uniform gone, a wine-red dress replacing it. On her next step, Adaar deliberately made noise, and Josephine turned to face her.

For a long moment, they only looked at one another, quite as though they'd been apart some time instead of thirty minutes. The deep neckline of Josephine's dress showed the shadow of her collarbone, peeked at the rise of her breasts; the length of it flowed down over her body, skimming her belly and hips. As beautiful as it was, it seemed somewhat faulty as an article of clothing. Adaar wanted immediately to remove it.

"You look beautiful," Josephine said, her voice hushed.

Adaar barely remembered not to fiddle with the dress; her fingers would surely snag the fabric. "Thank you, for this. I, ah—didn't realize my disdain for the uniform was so obvious."

Josephine held out her hands, and Adaar moved closer to take them. "You would not have complained," she said, a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, her eyes sad, "if you had stayed in it the rest of the night, but still, you would not have liked it. I wanted…" Her brow furrowed as she searched for the appropriate words, the perfect words; Josephine always selected them so carefully. "I wanted, for once, for you to feel as lovely as I see you. Even up to your neck in mud. Even in armor. Even in that uniform, which, I admit, is very loud," she added, and Adaar laughed despite the knot of emotion tight in her throat. "To me, you are always stunning."

Adaar squeezed her hands. "Will you dance with me?" she asked, and in the half-beat of silence before Josephine's wide smile, she didn't worry that Josephine would glance over her shoulder, at the light spilling out from the ballroom, and say it would be inappropriate.

Josephine—who had never, in fact, told her _no_ , whenever Adaar could get the courage to just _ask_ —rose up on her toes to kiss her, long and sweet.

She wasn't fool enough to believe that her worries would never return, but for tonight, at least, they were held at bay. Someday, maybe, they'd be gone entirely. She'd witnessed Josephine's talent for persuasion. Even her own insecurities couldn't stand against that forever.


End file.
